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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29008995">ricodando</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothgoblyn/pseuds/gothgoblyn'>gothgoblyn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Call of Duty (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Cold War, Depression, F/F, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Heartwrenching, Heavy Angst, Multi, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Insert, Slow Burn, World War II, bell has nightmares, sobbing your eyes out angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:21:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,909</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29008995</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothgoblyn/pseuds/gothgoblyn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The windy mornings in Poland still crack down on spirits that try to remain here, and the souls of innocent human lifeforms flood past the townspeople. Alder and them don’t get along like they used to. But in this bright age that is September of 1983, something feels more…demanding. Maybe killing Perseus wouldn’t do anything or even fix a single thing. It might not even matter if Allied forces kill him or not. But Adler still sat down and agreed with himself, and that was in the right, and that he was always right. Still, both of their voices echo through their head when they try to sleep at night, “We’ve got a job to do, Bell.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bell/Helen A. Park, Russell Adler &amp; Bell, Russell Adler/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>ricodando</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>double lines means pov switch</em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Bell woke up devastated. Life isn’t quite what they thought it would be. They morphed their cheek back into the pillow, the cold side of the pillow, as always. The pain they’ve always resented became so uncomfortably familiar. They turned to the door, but there’s no one there to say good morning to them any longer. They’ve wasted so much time this morning doing nothing-being nothing.</p>
<p>Streams of icy water raced down their chest, shocking their skin. Their ribs tensed, and they resisted the urge to shiver. They quietly hummed a song in Russian that they didn’t know the lyrics to. They sang the same song for nearly two hours straight before they even thought about ending their little pity shower. They grabbed the towel from the bedside table and threw around their wet hair that clung to their forehead.</p>
<p>A deep, familiar voice knocked at their door, “Please stop using all the hot water or I’ll put you in a gas chamber.”<br/>“That won’t be necessary—Woods—leave the mail on the counter; I’m not even dressed yet.”<br/>Bell walked out to the mirror; pinching and pressing their face through the steam.<br/>‘<em>This isn’t real. Nothing feels real anymore</em>.’</p>
<p>It’s all devastatingly cold outside, no one to hold them and their broken heart anymore. Their face burned and spewed hot salt down their cheeks; lowering themselves to the floor it all started to seem like nothing was even worth it anymore. Alone. Woods barely came by, and when he did, he was not to bother with them or personal ordeals. Alder was long gone; god only knows where. No one has heard from Lazar in years, same goes for Sims. Park still sent them letters every once and while, trying to make sure Bell hasn't lost their love for her. <br/>They choked up the confidence to stand again, to face themselves in the mirror. They crawled out to their bed; silently sobbing out curses and wishes that may never come true.<br/>They let out a sigh and try not to look out the window at the city lights. beaming; glowing and thriving. And here was them, sat in their room of flowers trying to be like them. Pretty and growing. The clouds would come in soon, the rain would promise a calm night. It was a time of solitude tonight; their loneliness is your last resort; a comfort. But loneliness has been their only way to cope for two months now. It’s getting even more lonely than lonely. It’s all becoming blurry and lost. No one to keep them company. Who would want to see someone like that anyway?</p>
<hr/><hr/>
<p>Days grew into weeks, grew into months, grew into years, grew into sorrow. Everything confined dull hope, dull hope of growth and change. The cold morning haze dripped through the windows; soft angels of snow falling on the barren trees. Adler sat at his home, headstrong and arrogant. ‘It doesn’t bother me.’ He says, dismissing any trace of human emotion that seemingly haunts him. Adler doesn’t sleep anymore; he’s got work to do.</p>
<p>Fresh white smoke drools out of his mouth, like some sort of rabid wolf. This obsession, this longing for an escape. Makes him feel the closest to ‘wild’ that he’s felt in a long time. He doesn’t bring his gun with him anymore, doesn’t care about politics. He doesn’t have the motivation or the will power to write to Bell, encase them with the love and trust they once had for him, but it wasn’t worth his strength. He tried to move on, tried loving other people, trying new things, eating new foods. But it was never—Bell. All the stars were the same constellations, the sun comes up and the planets still take their time around. Adler pretends he doesn’t think of them at night and doesn’t waste his time away wasting himself. All he does is drink to forget, wondering what’s going to kill him first. The black lung, or a shriveled-up liver. It’s not his first time doing this, but it’ll most likely be his last. His ex-wife used to bring him the joy Bell does—or—<em>did</em>. The thought of Bell still being alive brings him hope but, after nearly killing them, he knows he’ll never be able to know them again. He hates to admit it, but they were the reason he still believed in soulmates—platonic or not. </p>
<p>His sparkle fades away every day. He feels like he’s de-evolving. And in a brilliant moment of modern cognitive ability, he felt his adrenaline start to boil within him, a pure sign of him de-evolving, just as he thought. He was in touch with his beast for nearly a second; just a millisecond more and he would have destroyed everything in a blink of an eye. For <em>them</em>. He smacks his palms against the table, shouting curses to himself for being so <em>stupid. ‘How could you be so fucking stupid? You would have given everything for them, and you do this? They would have fought the world for you.”</em></p>
<p>His eyes twitch back tears. His words caught in his throat, and tearful desperation welled inside him without warning. It rose threateningly close to the brim, an emotion he hasn’t shown in so, so long. He couldn’t stop it. His head told him to stay together but his heart dominated him—once again. There was nothing he could <em>do</em>; nothing he could <em>say</em>. He was lost in this infinite universe; hunting for the star that completed his constellation. He would wait. That’s all he could do. Wait until Bell spoke up and said they could do something—<em>anything</em>. He clung to the hope that they were still alive. </p>
<p>But, still, after everything, no matter how hard he cries to the moon every night, they were under the same sky, and that was enough.</p>
<hr/><hr/>
<p>Somehow, they still managed to smile at the thought of him. Therapy was beginning to pay off--though Adler was some crazy ex-boyfriend who, quote, "<em>Made me do drugs with him, and now my memory is all weird and subdued."  </em>They write now, filling journal after journal with thoughts and questions Woods would have bullied them for. They write about the Cold War, and the memories with everyone in the safehouse. But half of her notes are about him. </p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>I envied you, Adler. I looked up to you; all of you.  In fact, my head couldn't get enough of you. But I was just your little experiment; something to mess around your mind with for a couple of days. I was the new face of technology. Something even the Soviets wouldn't have thought of. And while you were wishing to land on the moon, I wanted you to take me with you. I thought this world was for everyone. I believed in you and your universe for so long. There came the supernova. We were the two stars; crashing into one another. It was so beautiful, for a moment. But I hope this black hole that roams in my heart envelops you with it's sweet, indulging sent. Because I would have fought the world for you. </em>
  </p>
  <p><em>If it wasn't personal to you, it was definitely personal to me. But it was always personal, wasn't it? I never felt the type of pain you put me through before. You made me into an android. I felt emotionless and defeated. Like a pawn. Was I your pawn, and you thought this was checkmate? Do you know how it feels to be someone's stupid fucking pawn? Adler, do you know what I have seen without you? What I wake up to everyday? How the smell of smoke makes me want to rip my nerves out of my fucking body?  BUT STILL. I wouldn't lay a finger on you. I don't want to hurt you. Why would I hurt you? I would have fought the world for you. Instead, I have to see that damn needle every time I close my eyes. You're sick. You're insane. Lost your mind to Perseus. You became everything you hated. "<strong>Stay vigilant, they never tell the whole truth."  </strong></em> <em>I knew it was for the greater good, you told me it was for the greater good.  But...was nearly killing me? I thought it was over. I thought the war was done. We could go back to being normal. </em></p>
  <p>
    <em>I saved the world and you left me for dead. I told you the truth and you shot me. I put my life on the line and you nearly took it. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>I remember my first night at the hospital. How you were sat next to me. I didn't have the strength to speak in English; Russian makes you feel weak, doesn't it? Feels like the language of cowards? But you sat there and talked to me in your coarse voice and acted like you didn't care. I knew you did. As much as you hated to admit it, I know the sight of me on what could have been my deathbed haunts you when you try and sleep. I hope you understand how it feels. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>As much as I'd love to continue this love/hate relationship with you, I find it better when my therapist tells me to move on. If I got the chance to love you how I originally anticipated, you know I would. But I hope we never meet again. I hope that the world continues how it is, where I, the sun, never have to face you, the moon. You always find a way to see me; though, don't you? Like the moon in the morning sky, something that isn't meant to be, but somehow ends up happening. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>It was a stupid idea at first. <em>How could you be so stupid?</em>  Writing Russell Adler, a <em>letter</em>, after all this? Waste more words on him? But it was more than that. It couldn't be that. It wasn't a question of whether or not to send the letter, that was obvious. They wanted to, and they have wanted to for so many years. There was a small opportunity where they could send it without feeling regret, so that it would arrive perfectly on his birthday. It was a question of what to say; how to <em>make him feel</em>, that was less obvious.</p>
<p>Every letter that they wrote looked <em>wrong</em>, out of place, things were too wordy, or nothing was said at all. There was so much to be said, but too little words in the world to describe how they really felt. And something felt so powerful about holding that pen; it didn’t hold much significance to anyone else but Bell.</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sky is coated in black. Bell’s heart aches faintly at their own remarks. Once, they thought Russia was pretty. They couldn’t find the words to tell Adler that after so many years of frantically slipping on the ice, coughing up lung-fulls of the dark smoke, and running from the woods—it had become a thing of nightmares. They stares at themself in the mirror; they could feel the memories slipping through their fingers. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">The moon would have been out tonight; a full moon at that. Bell would have been able to tell Alder that the universe had him, and that everything was going to be okay.  </span>Because no matter what,</p>
<p class="p1">“<em>we are under the same sky, and that is enough</em></p>
<p class="p1">-<em>Bell</em>.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello this is based off a story i wrote for English a while back &amp; i have started an ongoing obsession with russell adler. of course this will be gender neutral, so you are “bell” and will be referred as bell with they/them pronouns. so it’s self-insert! i’ll try my best with updates and getting stuff out for y’all &lt;3 also note that this is NOT canon but it does go off some of the events in the campaign.(bell does go on other missions that were not in the campaign in this story) ALSO! i’ll put trigger warnings before heavy parts so y’all know what you’re reading beforehand. okay i think that’s it. remember you’re loved and adler would hug you so tight if he was real &amp; knew who you were.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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